


Police Persecution

by MimBeech



Category: Hot Fuzz (2007), Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Cats, Crime, Crossover, Fluff, Gay Characters, Lesbian Characters, M/M, Merely a Hint of Sex, Modern AU, Wodehousian Mash-Ups, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 07:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13782252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimBeech/pseuds/MimBeech
Summary: Bertie Wooster is a rich young Lord, born of old money and old values. His boyfriend Reggie Jeeves is a psychologist, who is registered but not currently practicing. Circumstances bring the boys to Sandford, where they encounter the town Inspector and his Sergeant boyfriend. Nicholas Angel and Danny Butterman solve a mystery of literal cat-burglary.Large swathes of plot are borrowed (and subsequently mangled) from Aunts Aren’t Gentlemen and Thank You, Jeeves. Established relationships on all sides, this is simply an exercise in blending two narratives that I love very much.





	Police Persecution

I was a shade perturbed. Lying in bed alone, the magnitude of what had occurred seemed to increase in concordance with the lengthening shadows creeping up the walls. Of course, I was not truly alone in the bed: my trusty banjolele lay by my side, waiting faithfully for my hand to once more pluck its strings in melodious refrain. To be clear, it must be noted that I was the only human presence in the apartment that afternoon, and – although music is a balm to my soul – no amount of musical solace can replace that which is found with another person. That was my current dilemma – music had come between me and the man I loved, and I was sorely vexed.

Reggie – my partner, in both crime and life, known notoriously about London as the Inimitable Jeeves, for his quick wit and piercing insight – had left not three hours previously. This was the source of my perturbation. We have been together some time now, through thick and thin, dark times and light. Reggie is no doubt a passionate man, not that you could tell upon first meeting him _face-à-face_ , he can come across as stuffy and pompous at times. Little did I know that his fiery passion could be turned upon a simple hobby of the musical persuasion. 

Allow me to recount the catalysing incident in more detail. 

Earlier that afternoon, I was melted across the _chaise_ in our front parlour, quietly and nimbly fingering the strings of my banjolele, when Reggie burst in the room, fire in his black eyes, lips a-tremble with fury, and spake thus.

“If it is your intention to play that instrument within the narrow confines of our apartment, Bertie, I fear I must leave you.”

I drew myself up. It was not the first time we had disagreed on an aesthetic matter. I knew when to hold firm, and when to fold to Reggie’s whims. This, I told myself, was a situation that required a steel backbone. Upon further reflection, it is possible that this may not have been the case.

“You say, ‘that instrument’, Jeeves” – his last name had somewhat transformed into pet-name since our reconnaissance, partly because I enjoy the sound of it, but also because of its amusing resemblance to a certain search engine that failed to remain relevant in the 21st century – “and you say it in an unpleasant, soupy voice. Am I given to understand that you dislike this banjolele?”

“I loathe it.”

“You’ve put up with it well enough ‘til now.”

“With grave difficulty.”

“Let me tell you that better men than you have stood worse than banjoleles. Are you aware that a certain American, Tonya Krampinski, played the accordion for eight successive hours without a stop? I read it on Buzzfeed.”

“Indeed.” Reggie was not amused.

“Do you think Krampinski’s partner left when she was mastering her instrument for her world record breaking attempt? Certainly not.”

“I fear I cannot recede from my position. I’m going to visit Chuffy for some time.” He looked at me balefully.

“Oh.”

I considered.

“You’re really taking some time out, old man?”

“Yes.”

I mused.

“In that case please give my good regards to my old school chum, Marmaduke Chuffnell.” I drew out Chuffy’s name, in a vague attempt to humour Jeeves into understanding how unreasonable he was being.

It did not work. Reggie narrowed his eyes, thinned his lips, and gave a formidable impression of a chest of drawers. “I’m going to pack.” He left the room, snapping the door behind him.

I sighed, allowing my head to fall backwards on the arm of the chaise. Almost immediately, I jerked my head up once more at the sound of the door re-opening. Jeeves poked his head through and said peevishly, “Moreover, the neighbours have begun to complain. Really do think about it Bertie.” He paused, pursing his lips. “I will see you when you’ve seen sense. I love you.” He retreated, this time clicking the door behind him.

“Dash it all, Jeeves, I love you too!” I shouted through the solid oak that stood between him and me.

…

Danny took another swig of the bottle in front of him. He was enjoying some down-time before picking Nick up from the Station after the Inspector’s later shift. This was a regular routine for the couple on a Thursday – the one day where Nick stayed at the station two hours longer than his sergeant partner. After his longer shift, Nick would invariably be grumpy, so Danny often drank a beer in preparation, to keep a rosier mood. The couple would then order take-away – Nick being too tired to cook, and Danny being to occupied with making Nick feel less tired, to even consider preparing food. Both men would then eat their dinner while watching a movie, more often than not reprising their earlier activities partway through, and subsequently missing the final scenes. Just thinking about this comfortable routine, and the pleasure the evening ahead had in store, made Danny smile as he took yet another swig.

The Crown at Wells was full and noisy, particularly around the small TV set at the other end of the bar, where the horse races were in full swing. As the first horse crossed the line and patrons either groaned or hollered, Danny heard the man next to him loudly boast to his friend.

“It’s a sure thing, mate, Potato Chip is going to win the Bridmuth Cup, no doubt.”

“Oh yeah, how’d’you know?”

“He has a cat.”

Danny’s interest was piqued, he turned to watch the man talking. He was an older man, with a tweed flat-cap perched on a large, bald head. He was swaying as he talked, suggesting he’d had quite a bit to drink. Of course, Danny was off duty, and had also had his fair share of hard drinking nights. Who was he to call people up for drinking too much? 

The man’s friend interjected, “A cat? What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“A cat. You know, racing horses often have pets themselves – can you believe that? Domestica’ed animals, domestica’in’ animals of their own. So this horse, Potato Chip, has a cat. And this cat makes him the happiest, healthiest horse I tell you. He’s an absolute ripper is Potato Chip.”

The man’s friend was now nodding, clearly won over by the wisdom of his drinking companion. “You should know, I s’pose. You are his trainer after all.”

“That’s right,” flat-cap affirmed, nodding with such force he threatened to unbalance himself entirely. “And I know a winner when we got one.”

Danny was mystified, betting on horses – in fact, any gambling activity – had been a pet peeve of his mother’s. He’d never once set foot inside a bookmakers. As he pondered the bizarre world of horse racing, he lazily swilled the last dregs of his ale then downed the few amber millilitres in one gulp. Setting his glass firmly on the bar, he stood and ambled out of the Crown at Wells to pick up his boyfriend.

…

I followed Jeeves down to Chuffnell Hall the next day – rather significantly, I was sans-banjolele. Chuffnell Hall is a grand manor on the edges of a small village called Sandford. I recollect there being some sort of drama in the vicinity of this peaceful hamlet, but at present cannot pinpoint it’s exact nature. Nonetheless, whenever Reggie and I visit my old pal Chuffy, I always find it quiet, peaceful, and, admittedly, a little boring.

Having driven from London, and parked my car in the expansive drive of Chuffnell Hall, I walked through the greater grounds of the hall, and eventually found Chuffy seated under a spreading oak. My dapperly-dressed friend was calmly slicing thin sections of cucumber and using them to scoop generous portions of pâté into his mouth. Waving cheerfully with his pocket knife (the cucumber slicer in question) he hallooed as I approached. 

“What’s all this about a banjolele, my esteemed friend? Jeeves is rather put out by it, you should be careful not to incur his ire, it’d be a pity to lose him.”

“I’d never lose him, Chuffy, he’s far too big, over six foot, you know.”

“A lazy joke, Wooster, I hope you’re not losing your edge. You were such a laugh at Eton.”

“Although, I would very much like to know were Jeeves is presently. Do you know?”

I had to wait at this point for Chuffy to swallow his last heap of pâté, performing a smashing impression of a ball python ingesting a large mouse. Perhaps a rat.

“He went for a walk after lunch. He’s been gone about an hour now.” He pointed idly, “In that direction I believe.”

“Right-ho.” 

“He really does like it here, in the country. I know you two are London boys through and through. But you should have seen the way his eyes sparkled as he doffed his hat and picked out a rambling stick.”

I made an affirmatory noise.

“You ought to buy a place out here in the country Wooster – put your money to good use.”

“What rot, dear Chuffy, then I’d be on the brink of financial ruin every second month, like you are.”

It was no secret that my dear old school friend had been saddled with his family’s estate from a young age, and had never quite been able to keep it afloat. To continue a nautical metaphor, I can safely say the estate was currently leaking water into the bilge and lower cabins, and listing dangerously to one side.

Chuffy laughed the laugh of a man who was not afraid of destitution in the least. “Ah ha ha. Well, I have made a new friend recently—”

“What, another? Whatever do you need two friends for?”

“Very droll, Bertie. As I was saying, this new friend has advised me of a sure thing upon which to bet my fortunes. A horse in fact. Simla, owned by the Eggesfords from the next county over, is said to be one of the finest racers in the history of racing.”

“Is that so?” My voice no doubt betrayed a lack of confidence, because Chuffy responded with vigour.

“Certainly. The very finest horse. I have already visited my bookmaker and wagered a heavy amount on Simla.”

“Well, I don’t quite understand horse racing myself, old chap, but if you’ve already sown, we can now only wait to see what you’ll reap.”

A calculating look entered the eyes of my old school chum. He furrowed his brow, appearing to appraise me critically, perhaps as critically as he might a horse upon which he may bet.

“Bertie,” he said, “Do you think you could help me with something?”

“Certainly, Chuffy. Anything for a friend from my boyhood.”

“Simla does in fact have a contender of almost equal agility and speed.”

“Suddenly he doesn’t seem like such a safe bet.”

Chuffy held up his hands placatingly.

“He is, he is, I’m sure of it. Because I happen to know a way to hobble this contending horse.”

“Subterfuge, Chuffy?”

“In the smallest degree, Bertie. Certainly nothing more shocking that what we used to get up to in our final years at Eton.”

A certain amount of tension settled in the base of my stomach at Chuffy’s words. Our final years at Eton had been rather spirited, to say the least. Still, I allowed my friend to continue his explanation.

“Won’t you continue your explanation, then?”

He looked about him furtively, apparently wary of snoopers and lookers-on.

“Potato Chip – that is the contender’s name – is well known for being rather fond of a cat.”

“A cat?”

“A cat.”

I nodded. And Chuffy continued. At this point, though, I was beginning to suspect Chuffy of having breathed one breath too many of this fickle country air.

“Race horses are notorious for forming friendships with felines. And are known for falling flat when they lose their feline.”

“What? How?” 

“Much like a pining old lady, they lose their joie-de-vivre when they lose their companion.”

“I see.” I did not see.

“The best way to hobble Potato Chip is therefore to pilfer his pussy.”

“You mean the cat?”

“Of course I mean the cat, Bertie. Are you listening?”

I was of course listening attentively. I don’t quite know what personal quality of mine often makes friends and acquaintances believe I am not listening. Thinking upon it now, Jeeves did once comment that I had ‘dreamy eyes’. This may have something to do with it.

I responded, “So, we steal his cat, and Potato Chip will lose his verve, such as it is.”

“Precisely! And Simla will be sure to win the Bridmuth Cup.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be too difficult a task, old chum. We did something similar when we secured Uncle Travers’ cow creamer after it was stolen by a kleptomaniac house guest, do you remember?”

“That’s what I thought, Bertie. So you’ll help me?”

“Certainly my good fellow!” Once decided on a path, particularly one which will aid a friend in need, a Wooster – as part of a noble and selfless line – will stay true to it. “Now, take me inside for a tipple of some sort, while we wait for Jeeves to return from his rambles.”

…

Danny and Nick clattered through the narrow doorway to their cottage, carrying a plastic bag each of Thai take-out.

Theirs was a historically significant home, with thick walls, small windows, and a rambling garden (the latter being Nick’s favourite aspect of the cottage the Sandford Police Service had granted him). This evening, the couple admittedly did have a bit more difficulty in getting over the threshold, due to the fact Danny had taken advantage of the encroaching darkness to press furtive and hot kisses to the back of his partner’s neck.

Having finally stumbled inside, closed the door, and carelessly deposited their bags, Danny pressed Nick against the nearest wall and locked him in a warm kiss. Nick moaned, opening his mouth to invite Danny to deepen their embrace. Danny pressed a thigh between Nick’s as his lover ran his fingers through the short hair at the base of Danny’s skull. Nick made a noise that only Danny could interpret as I need to breathe, so the younger police Sergeant broke off to nuzzle below Nick’s ear. Planting a row of soft kisses down his partner’s neck. 

“Ah, fuck!”

Danny pulled away, eyes widening in surprise. He looked at Nick in concern, “What’s wrong?”

Nick was wincing, rubbing at his eye. “The hatstand poked me in the eye!” He looked put out.

“I don’t think that was the hatstand’s fault, Nick. I think you poked it with your eye.”

“It was your fault, in fact, you twit. Can’t you even wait ‘til we’ve unpacked dinner before you maul me?”

Apparently, Nick’s usual grumpiness had not been quelled by Danny’s carefully-made plans to seduce him. The next step would have to be a hot meal.

“Aw, don’t be like that Nicky,” Danny smiled wryly, “I’m pretty sure you enjoyed it before a bit of furniture put you off.”

“Why do we even have a hatstand? The hallway’s narrow enough as is. And the only hats we have are uniform, and they’re back at the Station.” Nick now picked up the take-out bags, and made to walk to the kitchen.

“It were my mother’s weren’t it.” Danny’s voice was quiet, reserved.

Nicholas turned around immediately. “Oh shit, Danny, I’m sorry. I knew that.” He put out one hand, beckoning for Danny to take it, then gently lead his partner down the hall.

“It’s okay.” Danny murmured, as Nick put their dinner on the table. Nick reached to cup his partner’s cheeks gently. He kissed the larger man, right by his eye, causing Danny to smile shyly once more.

“Let’s have dinner. I’m sorry I’m such a cranky bastard.”

“Only sometimes. I know you’ve had a long shift.”

Nick winced as he pulled bowls out from a cupboard and rifled in a drawer for cutlery. “No excuse, really.”

Danny let the matter drop and began unboxing their spring rolls, curry puffs, Pad Cee Ew and Lardna. The two ate dinner companionably, exchanging Station gossip for the day. Danny made Nick laugh recounting the two dreary and frankly confusing hours he spent with Tony Fisher looking for a piece of evidence. Turns out Fisher had sat upon it at some point, and it had remained stuck to the seat of his trousers until Doris called out, “Check out Fisher’s arse!”, causing general bemusement throughout the team. Nick downloaded his pent up annoyance for the day, mostly centred on the Andes and their stubborn refusal to attend OH&S training. “It’s compulsory every year, and they haven’t done it for three, for crying out loud!” he exclaimed, upsetting his fork and causing Danny to erupt in chuckles.

Having finished the meal, feeling full and satisfied, Danny retired to their loungeroom to pick out a DVD for the night while Nick made tea. Carefully holding a cup of Oolong for himself and a cup of English Breakfast, white, for Danny, Nick entered to find his partner sprawled on his back on the floor holding two DVDs above his head. He frowned in concentration, appearing to consider them both judiciously.

“Made a choice?”

“Well, I kind of feel like Sci-Fi tonight. But I can’t decide between Star Trek IV and The Fifth Element.”

Danny continued talking, noting the various merits of either movie. However, Nicholas didn’t quite process what Danny was saying as another, more interesting thought entered his mind. Putting the tea on a side table, he went to stand over Danny, one leg either side of his partner. 

Holding the Fifth Element close to his face, trying to determine the overall running time, Danny remained oblivious. He couldn’t remain so, however, when Nick lowered himself to rest lightly on Danny’s thighs.

“What’re you doin’?”

Nick’s smile was cheeky, “Making myself comfortable.”

“Don’t you want to watch a movie then?”

“Not when you look so nice where you are.” Nick put his hands to Danny’s chest and leaned downwards to kiss him lightly.

Danny moaned, chasing Nick’s lips when he pulled away to take off his shirt. The younger man reached out to gently touch his partner’s chest with reverent fingers. “Well, you do make a convincing argument.”

“I damn well hope so,” Nick growled, once more capturing Danny mouth in a searing kiss.

The Fifth Element and Star Trek IV lay discarded and forgotten on the loungeroom floor.

…

Chuffy and I were somewhat out-of-breath. Most likely due to the fact that we were both lightly jogging towards the stables of some wealthy landed-gentry type, who had taken it upon himself to breed a ripper of a horse. The horse in question being Potato Chip, whom we were about to send into a state of melancholy by stealing his beloved cat.

When I set out, that very morning, to join Jeeves at the Chuffnell country abode, I never considered I may be engaged in such skulduggery. 

Chuffy and I stayed close to one another as we furtively skirted around the exterior of the stable. Having found a likely doorway, Chuffy – rather terrifyingly, in my opinion – produced a slim knife from a pocket and used it to wedge the lock open. 

“I say, old man,” I whispered, “That’s an unusually well practiced skill for a member of the gentility, such as yourself, to posses.”

“Shut up, Bertie!” Chuffy replied, huffily.

I did as bid and followed him into the building. 

“You stand here and keep guard, I’m going to search the stalls for Potato Chip. According to my source, the cat sleeps alongside him.”

“I do hope he’s a friendly feline.”

“What? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Won’t he be easier to take if he’s amenable to making new acquaintances.”

“Oh, do shut up, Bertie.” Chuffy truly appeared to be _sur les nerfs_ , as the French would say. “Just wait here and call out if you see anything.”

I nodded, seeing as my verbal input was seemingly unwelcome. Chuffy skipped off, and I lit a cigarette to calm my nerves, undoubtedly an old fashioned habit, of which Jeeves was attempting to cleanse me. Nonetheless, it must be acknowledged that in moments of stress, when one’s nerves are likely to be frayed, nothing restores a man like a quiet puff of nicotine.

No sooner had I breathed my last restorative puff, Chuffy returned holding a rather large and docile member of the genus Felis Catus. 

“Alright.” Chuffy whispered, nudging me with his shoulder – his arms currently occupied by near 15 pounds of cat. “Let’s go.”

We sauntered out the stable, as quietly as mice, scampered through the woods bordering the previously-mentioned gentry’s property, flung ourselves into my Rolls, awaiting us by the fence, and were off. As I drove, I noticed Chuffy’s breathing easing gradually. Once we were near a kilometre gone, he suddenly crowed. He hooted and hollered with such emotion I very nearly drove us into a hedge.

“Calm down, old sport.” I admonished, “I very nearly drove us into a hedge.”

“We did it, Bertie! We did it! Potato Chip stands no chance against Simla now, and I promise you, I’ll buy you a bottle of champagne with my handsome winnings. A crate of champagne. A shipping container!” He squeezed the cat in his arms so firmly that, despite her affable nature, she made a noise of distinct displeasure.

“Oops, sorry puss-puss,” Chuffy lifted the cat (with slight difficulty) to look it directly in her eye. He addressed it seriously, “I do hope you don’t mind staying at Chuffnell Hall for a bit, puss-puss. I’ve got lots of sardines for you, and a small basket prepared. Now, what is your name?” He fiddled a bit with its collar, then made a noise of surprise. “Would you believe it, Wooster, it must be a sign.”

“What must be a sign.”

“This fine feline and I, we have the same name! Bertie, may I introduce to you, Marmaduke the cat.”

…

It had been an unusually quiet morning at the station. In the past few hours, no swans had escaped, no sheep were blocking roads, and no one had been murdered in a horrible fashion.

Nicholas sat peacefully at his desk, enjoying the hush of the office. It seemed everyone on shift was quietly filling out paperwork, and logging various reports. 

Near 9:00, Danny wandered in to Nick’s office, holding two steaming cups of coffee. 

“Thought you might want a pick-me-up, Nick. It’s so quiet today.” He mused, depositing both mugs on the Inspector’s desk.

He dragged the seat that usually occupied the space in front of Nick’s desk around – a habit the younger man had formed early in their relationship, when he found that he wanted to sit next to his partner, rather than across a desk from him. The metal legs scraped on the carpet, making a soft noise. Danny sat heavily down, then shuffled the seat even closer, so their chairs were touching. Through this whole process, Nick simply sat watching, a soppy smile on his face. 

Satisfied with his current position, Danny took one of Nick’s hands, threaded their fingers together, then picked up his mug with his free hand and took a noisy sip. 

Nick leaned to one side and pressed a dry kiss to Danny’s temple. “Thanks for the coffee, Dan.”

Danny blushed, grinning. “No problem.”

Their relationship was now well known, not only to the Sandford Police Service, but throughout the general population of Sandford. Nonetheless, the two only really displayed this closeness in Nick’s office, during quiet periods. Nicholas, hardened by years in London, seeing the worst in humanity every other week, was often reticent to display his affection for Danny in public spaces. Danny didn’t really mind this, and if he were honest with himself, he’d admit that he was also a very private person when it came to his relationship with the Sandford Inspector.

Nick took a sip of his own drink and made an appreciative noise. The two men sat in companionable silence.

Their peace was broken when Nick heard the faint sound of shouting coming from the front desk. The noise suddenly became much closer when the door to the foyer opened and an old man in a flat cap strode through to the main office area. He was accompanied by a Sergeant Turner, who was fruitlessly trying to calm the irate man.

“I demand to talk to yer Inspector. I won’t be made to wait.” The man’s voice was rough and, frankly, furious.

Nick stood and walked to the doorway of his office. “Can I help you?”

“You’re the Inspector?”

“Yep.” Nick tried to respond magnanimously, but he couldn’t keep an annoyed frown from his brow – so much for his peaceful morning.

“I have a serious crime to report. A very serious crime.”

“Usually, we ask citizens to log their grievances at the front desk with Sergeant Turner, or Sergeant Turner.”

“Surely not something as serious as kidnapping?” The man asked, drama rising in his voice.  
Nick sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He considered his options, and considering Danny was still seated in his own office, he made a decision. “Please join me in an interview room, Mr…?”

“McAllister. Sean McAllister.”

“Mr. McAllister, and I’ll take your statement personally.”

Nicholas led McAllister down one hallway to one of their two interview rooms, motioned for the man to take a seat and made a point of leaving the door wide open.

He took a seat of his own, and pulled out his trusted notebook from a pocket. “So, you say there’s been a kidnapping? Who has been kidnapped?”

“Marmaduke.” McAllister growled. “It’s sabotage I tell yer, someone’s tryin’ to sabotage Glenfeld Estate.”

Nick wrote down, ‘Marmaduke’ and ‘Glenfeld’. “When was the last time you saw Marmaduke, and what had lead you to believe he had been kidnapped?”

“She.” McAllister corrected. 

Nick frowned slightly, then quickly schooled his expression, “Of course, please continue.”

“I haven’t seen her since I got her dinner last night. She went to bed with my horse, as she does ev’ry night. She wasn’t aroun’ to have her usual breakfast cream. She always hangs aroun’ the dairy shed for her cream. So, now I know she was kidnapped.”

At this point, Nicholas was profoundly confused. “Tell me, who is Marmaduke to you?”

“She’s my horse’s cat.”

“Your horse’s cat?”

“That’s right.”

Nick stood abruptly, “Right, then. I’m sure she’ll return in due course. Cats go wandering pretty often enough.”

McAllister waved his hands agitatedly, “No, you don’t un’nerstand, it’s sabotage!” 

Nick had had enough, “Mr. McAllister, you do realise I could charge you at this point for wasting police time. We’re not a cat finding service.”

“It’s sabotage because my horse, Potato Chip, is well primed to win this month’s Bridmuth Cup.” McAllister stood and leaned over the interrogation table. Spit flecked from his mouth in his distress. “Sommat’ like this happened to Ukridge Park last year, I know the trainer there. He told me how his best gelding’s cat was stolen – killed in fact, they discovered that when they found the bastard what did it – and the horse never raced the same again.”

“Are you telling me that someone took…” Nick hesitated, “…your horse’s cat to make him lose an upcoming race?”

“Exactly!” McAllister appeared satisfied now Nick seemed to believe him.

“I’m going to confer with my colleagues further, I’ll send someone in to take a full statement.”

McAllister nodded and sat back down at the table, as Nick walked down the hall to find Danny. He found Danny sipping the last of his coffee, still seated at the Inspector’s desk.

“Danny, what do you know about race horses and cats?”

…

I woke up somewhat uncomfortably. The previous night, rather than disturb Reggie post-catnapping, I had slept on the armchair in the corner of our room at Chuffnell Hall. My neck was now kinked and, although I was currently conscious, my left leg had decided to sleep on.

I stood, groaning, and stretched my popping joints. When I looked over, Jeeves was watching me from the bed, his gaze calculating.

“Where were you last night?”

I did not appreciate his accusatory tone.

“I was out with Chuffy, helping him with a matter of some delicacy.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the large amount of money Marmaduke has placed on a horse in the Bridmuth Cup, would it?”

I was flabbergasted. In retrospect, I should not have been so, I have long known about my boyfriend’s ability to know everything. 

“How did you know?”

“The housekeeper, Ms. Thatcher, mentioned something about it. I do hope you haven’t done anything thoughtless, Bertie.”

“No, no, not at all.” I moved over to the bed, and sat next to him. In the sunlight streaming through the curtains, Reggie looked like a dream. His dark hair took on a golden tone, his skin became alabaster. I kissed him, impulsively.

Reggie made a soft noise, presumably of appreciation. He has mentioned previously that I am quite a good kisser. However, he pulled away much too soon.

“Don’t distract me, Bertie. What have you done?”

I couldn’t keep the truth from him. 

“Nothing drastic, old sport, so you can wipe that frown from your brow. We merely collected a cat from a rival stable. It was for Chuffy, he needs this horse to win, and to assure that, we needed to scupper his rival. Anyway, cats regularly go missing, and we’ll return him as soon as the Cup is won. Did I mention that it was for our dear friend? As they say, _is est amicus qui in re dubia re juvat, uber est opus_.”

“ _Ubi re est opus_.” Jeeves corrected.

“Ah, of course, _ubi re est opus_. What would I do without you?”

Jeeves, apparently did not feel it was the time for sentimentality. He frowned at me severely.

“You stole a cat?”

“Borrowed, I think, might be a more apt description.”

“You stole a cat, to interfere with a horse race.”

Loathe as I was to admit it, I think Jeeves did have a point. I merely sighed, my eyes downcast.

“I can’t believe this, Bertie. What the devil makes you do these things?”

“In this case, it was to help a dear friend, Jeeves. He needs Simla to win this race, don’t you know the greater Chuffnell Estate is on the verge of financial collapse?”

He folded his arms across his chest – a sure sign of utmost displeasure.

“This is going to end badly, I just know it.”

“Well, do you have any suggestions?”

“Not at present, I will need some time to think. You say you have the cat here, at the Hall?”  
I made a noise of affirmation, somewhat muffled, because my mouth was occupied in the nibbling of Jeeves’ collar bone. I pulled the sheets down his body, and slowly made my way downward, kissing and nipping – as I know he rather enjoys.

Such enjoyment was plainly indicated in the quiet hiss that escaped his lips when I reached his hip bone. I looked up at him, enjoying how his hair had somehow become mussed in the few minutes I’d been at work.

“I’ll help you think, shall I?” I asked, cheekily.

Reggie simply bit his lip and nodded.

…

Inspector Nicholas Angel, accompanied by Sergeant Daniel Butterman, knocked at the door of Chuffnell Hall. While waiting for an answer he smiled gently at his partner and reached surreptitiously to squeeze his hand. They'd both been on the beat since Mr. McAllister had visited the Station, interviewing people all over Sandford. Nick could tell that Danny was tired, and most likely hungry. They'd missed their lunch break in favour of following leads. Nick adjusted himself and straightened his face as he heard the latch on the door click.

Before them stood a thin, gawky young man, wearing a navy blazer over a Wham! t-shirt. He looked the two officers up and down, and a slight sense of panic appeared to settle in his eyes. 

“Ah! Hello! Hello, hello, hello! How can I be of assistance, officers.”

Nick responded, using his ‘stern voice’ – which he calculated would have an authoritative effect – “Good afternoon, I’m Inspector Angel and this is Sergeant Butterman. We’re looking to speak with Mr. Chuffnell. We believe he may be able to help us in an investigation.”

“An investigation? Oh my, well, yes, certainly I can fetch him for you.” The young man took a step back, as if to go find his friend. Nick sensed he may be losing a lead, and called him back.

“Sorry, first, can I ask you your name and whether you live here?”

“Oh, uh, yes, of course. My name is Wooster, Bertie Wooster. I don’t live here, no, I’m a good friend of Chuffy’s – uh, that is, Mr. Chuffnell – and I’m staying here for a little holiday.”

Nick exchanged a significant look with Danny and pulled a small object out of his pocket. It was a sterling silver cigarette case, which had been found near the doorway of the Glenfeld Estate stables. It was engraved simply, ‘ _To B.W. love R.J_.’. It was the most obscure clue the Andes had picked up at the scene of the crime that morning. Hearing a name that matched the initials on the case made Nick's palms tingle. Instinct told him the young toff standing in the doorway of Chuffnell Hall had something to do with the cat-napping.

“Mr. Wooster, is this your cigarette case?”

Bertie’s eyes lit up, “Why, yes! I’ve been looking for it all afternoon. Where did you find it- oh…” He seemed to suddenly remember who he was talking to, and under which circumstances. His face fell, his general posture became immediately defensive.

Nicholas nodded, he was pleased to have found such a significant lead so quickly. “Where’s the cat, Mr. Wooster?”

Bertie tried to feign ignorance, “A cat? I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Once more, Nick glanced at Danny. Bertie gained the impression that the two men regularly communicated non-verbally. “Mr. Wooster, I’ll put this as simply and clearly as I can for you. Cooperating with us is in your best interest. Your cigarette case was found at the scene of the cat-napping.” 

Danny couldn’t keep himself from chiming in at this point. He had been so pleased about his involvement in the investigation. Earlier in the week, he’d overheard the trainer, Mr. McAllister, talking at the pub, and as such had impressed Nick greatly with his deep knowledge of race horses and cats. Moreover, in keeping abreast of town gossip, he had known about the Chuffnell Estate’s financial trouble, and had had the idea to talk to PC Thatcher’s mum about its sole inhabitant - Marmaduke Chuffnell. Doris’ mother worked as a housekeeper for the Chuffnell estate, and as such, had been gossiping with her daughter about Chuffy’s financial woes and gambling hopes. Danny was sure he was in for a pleasant evening with his lover when this investigation was tied up.

Only slightly smugly, Danny said, “Your friend, Mr. Chuffnell, is going broke, ain’t he? And he now has a decent amount of money running in the Bridmuth Cup stakes. In short, you’re both nicked! ” 

Bertie opened and shut his mouth repeatedly, in a spirited imitation of a fish gasping for air.  
Nick decided to hurry things along, he turned to Danny and said simply, “I think we should take Mr. Wooster back to Sandford Station with us, Sergeant Butterman, for further questioning.”

Bertie responded in a rush, obviously panicked. “The cat’s in the bathroom, upstairs. We left her there with some sardines last night, I checked on her this morning, she’s perfectly happy, no harm done.”

Nick nodded to Danny, “Sergeant, do you think you could go upstairs and collect this cat? Meanwhile,” he turned to Bertie, “Mr. Wooster here can take me to talk to his friend, Mr. Chuffnell. Then we can all visit the Station together.”

…

My current predicament was less than desirable. I will list my chief complaints as follows:

1\. I had been arrested just this afternoon,  
2\. I had been left in this cramped cell for the past three hours with no news as to my fate,  
3\. Nor had I heard anything as to Chuffy’s fate,  
4\. I thought my cigarette case had been returned to me, but that blasted policeman – Angel, I think – had taken it once more, as ‘evidence’, and,  
5\. I had not seen hair nor hide of Reggie since I’d been rather brusquely led from the Hall to a police car.

As I sat, musing upon my poor circumstances, I heard a raised voice outside my cell. It was an elderly female voice, deep and austere. She was telling somebody off, for what reason, I am not sure. However, I was glad that I was out of her firing line. That is, until I was.

The door to my cell was quickly opened and through it I saw Jeeves and, to my surprise and dismay, my Aunt Dahlia. I must have looked somewhat shocked, because the first thing my dear Aunt said to me was, “Well don’t just stand there, gawping, you useless toad, get up and out this instant.”

I looked to Reggie for some explanation (and solace, of course, in this stressful time). He simply walked into the cell, collected me by the elbow and lead me out into the corridor. He whispered in my ear, “I asked Dahlia to post your bail, I have a plan, Bertie, you have to trust me.”

At this point, I must admit that – despite my previously mentioned ‘surprise and dismay’ – I am eternally fond of my Aunt Dahlia. My poor mood at present was mostly due to the shame I would face for being the reason to call her all the way from London. My Aunt works long hours as CEO of one of Britain’s foremost banks, and has a forthright and forceful manner about her. The only person I’ve seen her speak softly to is her wife of five years, Nanette. 

Aunt Dahlia is, of course, my favourite aunt; the less said about my Aunt Agatha, the better.

Now I was free from the confines of the constabulary, Aunt Dahlia addressed me once more. “Your darling Reggie tells me he did not have funds enough to bail you out, you silly boy. He asked me to come post haste to have you released. The Inspector here has told me everything there is to know about your idiotic activities. For shame, Bertie, I flinch to think of what your father would say.”

I cast my eyes downward, a portrait of repentance and humility. I had no idea what Jeeves had planned with my Aunt, I could only hope that it was worth this verbal battery.

“You really must grow a spine one day, and not get involved in this tomfoolery with your old school friends. You realise I’m going to miss a charity dinner tonight, which Nanette will now be attending alone.”

“I’m dreadfully sorry, Aunt Dahlia, and grateful that you have gone to such trouble.”

“I have gone to some trouble, I expect you to repay me of course, in due time. Why Reggie doesn’t have immediate access to your funds I do not know. You must sort that out at once, you’ve been together quite long enough!”

Reggie does, of course, have full access to my money – all trust funds, investments, and inheritances. I can only assume that he feigned pennilessness to bring Aunt Dahlia down to Sandford. For the life of me, I still could not quite figure out why. Thus, I responded repentantly, “Yes, Aunt Dahlia.”

At that, my Aunt turned and lead our small retinue – herself, Reggie, and me – out of the station. She called out as we passed the Inspector’s office. “Thank you for your assistance, Inspector Angel. I’ll be sure to discipline my imbecile of a nephew.”

Whether the Inspector responded, or not, I do not know. I exited the Sandford Police Station as quick as my feet would carry me. 

Once outside, in the cool evening air, Jeeves asked Aunt Dahlia, “Will you stay the night with us, Dahlia, at Chuffnell Hall?”

She responded gruffly, evidently still put out about missing her dinner with Nanette, “I think I had better. If only to make sure Bertie doesn’t decide to steal a dog, or perhaps a ferret.”

I’ve known Jeeves, some time, and instantly recognised the gleam of a scheme going according to plan alight in his eye.

...

Paperwork – Nicholas was certain that any given British police officer must spend an average of 70% of their time filing reports, completing statements, filling-in forms and just writing in general. Luckily for him, he quite enjoyed the process. It was a bizarre satisfaction, one not shared by many of his co-workers. Knowing that he’d filled in every last requisite form instilled with a sort of wholesome emotion in his heart.

Danny, on the other hand, detested paperwork. He was currently bemoaning the mountains of files required to finalise the ‘Glenfeld Estate Cat-Napping’ at great length in the copy room, while Nick listened patiently. Nick took on his partner’s groans good-naturedly, as he picked up papers from the printer, stapling them as required.

“And,” Danny held up a finger, mid-complaint, “because we couldn’t tie all this up before the night shift came through, and because we haven’t heard anythin’ from the complainants, there’s gonna be another shit-load of files to complete because we’ve got this guy staying in our cell overnight.” He made a noise, partway between a groan and a sigh and rolled his eyes.

Nick just watched his partner, a faint smile on his face. Completing paperwork put him in a good mood, certainly, but nothing could make him feel better than watching Danny’s expressive face during a long conversation. Danny often caught him out at it, he would notice that Nick would space out and smile goofily at his lover. He’d then cough pointedly and demand Nick’s attention once more. Little did Danny know that Nick’s attention never dissipated – the police Inspector simply became entranced by the little crinkles at the corner of the younger man’s eyes, or the quirk of his lips, or the furrow of his brow.

It was this last facial feature that had Nick’s attention at present.

Danny continued in his rant, currently oblivious of Nick’s fond eyes upon him, “I can’t believe the nerve of these people sometimes. They think just ‘cos they’re from old, fancy families, they can swan about breaking the law. It’s as if everythin’s a bit of a game to them.”

Nick made a somewhat indifferent noise of agreement, and slid along the copy room bench to press himself into Danny’s side. It was late at the station, only Desk Sergeant Turner and PC Walker remained on the night shift, so he knew they had little chance of being seen in an unprofessional position. Not that Nick had anything truly racy in mind. He simply put an arm around Danny’s shoulder, bringing him in to a half hug and pulling him close enough to pressing a warm kiss to the larger man’s forehead.

“You know, I’m printing out the final copies of the reports now. I’ll have them filed and duplicates sent in half an hour. Then we’ll go home, yeah? Leave Turner and Walker to the night shift?” Nick rubbed comforting circles on Danny shoulder, “We need some dinner too, you haven’t eaten since this morning.”

Danny chuckled, Nick was always watching him. “Nah, except for a couple of bikkies with tea.” He reached a hand up to hold Nick’s upon his shoulder and pecked the Inspector’s cheek furtively. Then his pushed himself off the copy bench, still holding Nick’s hand, and squared his shoulders. “Alright then, let’s kick some papery arse.”

...

Chuffy was released the next morning. The owners of Glenfeld Estate had decided not to press charges. To me, that seemed like a wonderfully kind gesture, but Chuffy explained the reality of the situation as soon as he returned home. The Glenfeld horse trainer had pulled him aside by the Police Station and told him that the only reason they hadn’t pressed charges is that they were certain Potato Chip would win Bridmuth, and they knew Chuffy would lose all his money. The Glenfeld party had therefore decided that would be punishment enough, but warned him to never approach their property ever again.

“I was an idiot, Bertie, and now I am going to be completely broke.” Had Chuffy been a more emotional man, he may have broken down to sobs at this point. As it were – Chuffy being a prime example of the British maxim, ‘stiff upper lip’ – he only sighed heavily.

I was saved from the arduous task of comforting Chuffy by the entrance of Aunt Dahlia and Reggie to the morning room. They were mid-conversation, Aunt Dahlia saying something along the lines of “Nanette would adore it here, she’s often talking about how restful she finds the country. Ah, Bertie, Marmaduke! Just the boys I want to see.”

She sat comfortably on the lounge beside Chuffy, spreading her legs confidently and leaning back with a smile. I knew then, something was brewing.

“Jeeves tells me you’re in some difficulty of the monetary sort, Marmaduke.”

Chuffy sighed, once more, heavily, and indicated that Aunt Dahlia was indeed correct. “I am completely broke. I will have certainly lost my last reserves on the races at Bridmuth. I’ll have to sell the Hall, residence of the Chuffnell family for 400 years.” Truly, I had never seen Chuffy looks so downcast.

“Well, I have a proposition for you.” Aunt Dahlia puffed her chest imperiously, “I will buy Chuffnell Hall from you and, if you agree, will employ you as caretaker.”

Chuffy gave such a start, he almost fell off his seat. I, for one, made a noise and immediately looked over at Reggie. I had no doubt that this had been his plan all along. Convince Aunt Dahlia to come rescue me from the plods at Sandford, and have her look over Chuffnell Hall as a new residence. I knew Aunt Dahlia was successful, but I had no idea she had the funds to purchase a country manor.

She continued talking, Chuffy had been left blinking in a stupor as he collected his thoughts.

“That way, you can continue living here, and Nanette will get the country house of her dreams. I know she’ll love staying here when London becomes too much.”

Aunt Dahlia’s brazen countenance took on a softer aspect. Since she had left my uncle Travers – his creamer collecting habit having somewhat leapt out of hand – she had taken up with a rather sweet lady. The two were very much in love. And I will say that Nanette is a delight, if somewhat airy-fairy. It would seem Aunt Dahlia attracts dreamers. As it were, I definitely knew that dear Nanette would love Chuffnell Hall, it would match her dreams very nicely indeed. Who knew my Aunt Dahlia could actually be something of a romantic? Not I.

At this point, Reggie walked over to Chuffy’s side and tapped him gently on the shoulder. This started him out of his paralytic state and he began to babble immediately.

“You would do that, Dahlia? You would save me from homelessness? I can’t believe it. I cannot believe it. You’re a gem, a peach! Whenever you’re ready, the Hall is yours.”

Aunt Dahlia smiled benevolently, “Reggie tells me you’re a good man, Marmaduke, I think we can easily reach an agreement.”

I looked at Jeeves in wonder. No wonder his forehead bulged in such a way (an utterly endearing way, of course). He truly was one of the cleverest men I’d ever encountered. That instant, I began a plan of my own, I was going to lavishly thank Reggie that night for the perfect solution in our sojourn to Sandford.

...

Nicholas called out to Danny across the Station office, “You up for lunch, Dan?”

Danny’s head popped up from his cubicle, smiling, “Yeah, ‘course. I’ll just close up my computer.”

Simultaneously, PC Thatcher’s head popped up from her cubicle, her eyes narrowing cheekily, “You boys going to invite anyone else on your lunch date? I could do with a bite to eat, I think.”

Danny – pressing the last few keys triumphantly to close down his computer – responded, “Sure thing, Doris, but I warn you, we’ve got sandwiches and we’re setting up in a field out of town for some peace and quiet.”

“F’r s’m’ priv’cy, oi sh’d th’nk,” mumbled PC Walker.

Doris screwed up her nose as she thought, “On second thoughts, I don’t think I should encroach on your time together.” She shot a glib wink to her Inspector as Nick exited his office.

“No problem, Constable, maybe another time.” Despite his words, Nick’s voice was suffused with just a hint of threat, so as to discourage any future plans his team may harbour to crash his lunch dates. “Let’s go Danny.”

The two men walked out of the station into bright sunlight, and soon were driving down a quiet country lane to their favourite field out of Sandford. Pulling up alongside an old stile that provided an gateway to a short track leading down to a copse of willows by a small river, Nick pulled the handbrake and – in one swift motion – caught Danny’s hand. He pulled the younger man’s hand to his lips, pressing a firm kiss to his knuckles. Danny bit his lip, smiling fondly, eyes crinkling, then reached behind him to grab their picnic lunch and exited the car without a word.

Nick jumped out himself, jogged around the car to catch up with his partner and caught Danny’s hand once more. He helped Danny over the stile first, then leapt over it with ease (only showing off slightly), causing Danny’s eyes to light up in admiration. 

In companionable silence, Nicholas and Danny walked down to the waters edge, and sat side-by-side on a fallen log. Only when they were half-way through their sandwiches did Danny speak.

“D’you reckon it’d be nice? To live in a big ol’ house in the middle of the country, like that bloke we just arrested.”

Nick pursed his lips, “Well, I can’t imagine it’s all that nice if he’s committing light felony. Plus, he told me he was bankrupt.”

“Yeah, I know that, but it might be fun, you know, bein’ gentry and all that.”

“I dealt with my fare share of rich bastards in London, and here in Sandford, for that matter. I can tell you I would chose living here with you any day, just as we are, over mixing with prats like them.”

Danny chuckled, “You mean that, Nick?”

Nicholas’ only response was to press a soft and slightly mustard-y kiss to his partner’s cheek. Danny made a appreciate noise and laid his head down on Nick’s shoulder. As he admired the dappled shadow over the peacefully running water before him, he couldn’t help but agree with his lover – nothing could be nicer than sharing his life with the man he loved.

**Author's Note:**

> • Everyone’s gay! (∩｡･w･｡)っ.ﾟ☆｡'`  
> • Title, opening line and scraps of dialogue in the first section are borrowed from Thank You, Jeeves. ‘Police Persecution’ is the title of a chapter from the novel.  
> • I’ve never done a cross-over before, honestly this was tricky, so I hope it works!!  
> • Con-crit would be gratefully received, especially in writing in a Wodehousian style – I’m pretty sure it bled out into my non-Wodehouse chapters, but I can’t help it~


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